


A Secret for Himself

by WaywardAF67



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel in the Bunker, M/M, Masturbating Dean Winchester, Masturbation, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 08:31:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18090950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaywardAF67/pseuds/WaywardAF67
Summary: After seeing Castiel fresh from the shower in nothing more than a towel, Dean takes some time for himself to relax.





	A Secret for Himself

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you just want to write a fic about Dean dealing with his uncontrollable crush on Cas...and sometimes that turns into smut lite.  
> Thanks to my beta's who read this and TrenchCoatBaby, as always, for doing the edits of this fic.

“Dean, do you have any shaving cream I can borrow?” 

Dean looks up from his slice of pie guiltily. He’d snuck into the kitchen after he thought everyone else was asleep to take another generous helping of pecan pie. To his dismay, he isn’t the only one awake. 

“I looked through the bathroom cabinets, but couldn’t find any.” Cas stands in the doorway with a fluffy grey towel wrapped around his waist. His hair thick with moisture and puffed out in all different directions from where he’d ran the towel over his sopping wet mane. The low lighting of the kitchen makes his normally chocolate brown locks look black as coal. Droplets of water drip down his neck and roll across his body in slow motion, disappearing behind the twisted fabric at Cas’ hips. 

Dean’s happy he’s in between bites because seeing Cas standing in front of him half-naked and glistening, he’s sure he would have choked. Hell, he almost did but manages to cough back the drool flooding his mouth. 

“Uh, what?” he asks dumbly, trying to keep his focus on Cas’ face and not the adorable little freckle above his nipple.

“Shaving cream? Do you have any?” Cas tilts his head to the side. “Are you okay? You look pale.” 

_ Pale is better than fire engine red,  _ Dean thinks to himself, while also trying to remember to blink. Cas is a sight with his wet body, shining hair, and clean-shaven face... _ wait, why did he need shaving cream if… _

“I ran out and I’m not finished shaving, hence my needing to borrow yours.” Cas walks forward, concern lacing his gaze. 

_ Wasn’t finished?  _ Dean’s mind supplies him with the mental image of his best friend standing in his favorite shower stall, holding his balls, as the blade slowly scraped across his sensitive skin. 

“Shaving cream, right. Yeah, I...it’s, uh, in my room. Just let me grab it,” Dean says, jumping up quickly enough to look suspicious but refusing to acknowledge why. 

Manscaping has always been erotic for Dean and leads to some of his best shower jerk off sessions. The focus and precision needed has always made his heart race. One small slip and he could slice open his sack or nick the base of his cock. The touch of danger excites him, and he’d be lying if he said the sting of a fresh cut didn’t send blood rushing down to his cock. Not that he ever intentionally nicked himself, that shit stays irritated all day and isn’t worth the momentary thrill. 

Dean wiggles his hips, trying to shift the swelling between his legs and hoping Cas has no reason to look at his crotch. 

“My room,” Dean huffs an awkward laugh. “It’s in my um, my ah…”

“Room?” Cas supplies. 

“Yeah, room. It’s late, I’m tired.” Dean is grasping at straws, begging his mouth not to shout that he’d lost his train of thought because he was imagining Cas biting his lower lip as the razor dipped down between his thighs. 

A sweaty hand grips the door handle and turns, but there isn’t enough traction and Dean’s hand goes flying off the knob, smacking into the frame of the door. 

Looking back at Cas, he laughs awkwardly in quick huffs as he drags his palms across the fabric of his sweatpants. Cas’ brows are drawn together and he looks as if he’s about to ask Dean once again if he’s okay. Not wanting to risk blurting out that he wanted to watch Cas shave himself, Dean bites the inside of his cheek as he shoves the door open. 

His face is burning hot, and he knows if he looks at Cas, he might actually melt into a puddle of embarrassment and shame. So instead, he marches across his room and pulls his extra bottle of shaving cream from the duffle bag in the bottom of his closet. Dean rummages through his bag, pretending to dig for the item clearly sitting right next to his hand. Taking a few seconds to gather his thoughts won’t make Cas worry any more than he already is, so Dean takes a deep breath as he crouches in his closet, swirling his hand through his empty-except-for-the-shaving-cream-duffle. 

Deciding he’s spent enough time stalling, Dean pops up holding a can of Gillette like it’s a prized trophy. He tells his feet to move, to walk forward, but he’s locked in place as he sees Cas casually standing in the doorway. His shoulder is resting against the frame, and his feet are crossed at the ankles, a picture of masculine beauty. Where he almost drowned in his own spit earlier, his mouth has now gone dry and his throat clicks as he tries to swallow.  

Castiel pushes off the wall and strides across the room in three easy steps, standing face to face with Dean before he could even blink. “Thank you, Dean. You should probably get some rest.” 

“Yeah, I’m just gonna hit the hay.” Dean jerks his thumb over his shoulder where the bed is looming like an ominous presence. As if it weren’t a siren calling out for Dean to snatch the towel from Cas’ waist and lay him out across her warm soft surface.

“Goodnight, Dean, and thank you again,” Cas says, holding up the blue and green bottle as if Dean had somehow forgotten what he was being thanked for. It’s probably a good idea that he did that because Dean’s not sure he would have been able to remember. 

“Yeah, you too man. I mean, goodnight. Not thank you. I have nothing to thank you for.” Dean rubs a hand through his hair, hoping Cas doesn’t think he’s as stupid as he feels. 

Cas gives him one more curious look as he walks out the door, latching it in place behind him. Dean breathes a sigh of relief and lets go of the tension in his shoulders.  _ What the hell was that? _ he thinks as he strips down to his boxers, the pie sitting on the kitchen table long forgotten. Rocking his head from side to side indecisively, Dean finally decides  _ fuck it  _ and shucks his boxers, tossing them in the hamper with the rest of his dirty laundry. There are only a few seconds where he considers just going to sleep, but he’s aching and throbbing just from being close to Cas and there was no way he’ll be able to sleep if he doesn’t do something about the need he feels between his legs.

He flops down on his back at the edge of the bed, feet planted on the cold concrete floor. 

He feels like a teenager again, just finding out what a boner is and having no idea how to control it. It was just Cas in a towel for fuck's sake. He’s seen the guy’s body before. Maybe not all shiny and glistening, smelling like he just stepped out of a rainforest, but that’s no excuse to slip back into adolescence.

He runs a hand through his hair, trying to keep from grabbing his rapidly swelling cock. There had been no hunts in a few days, or supply runs, so Dean hadn’t done anything to his hair that day, so the strands are soft and silky. He curls his fingers and tugs, feeling the prickle in his scalp, before rubbing soothingly over the same area. 

Without his permission, his other hand works it’s way up from his navel to his pecks. He squeezes himself, not yet giving in to the desire to pinch his nipple. Restraint is what he’s going for, and if he’s going to get a hard-on from Cas in a towel like a child, he’s at least going to make it worth his while. 

His palm is warm against his chest, and it feels good in the coolness of his room. His hand stills and he stops stroking his hair, instead, tapping his fingers along his scalp down to his ear, where he runs a gentle finger along the shell. A chill runs up his spine as he traces along his jaw and up to his mouth before dipping his finger in and slicking it with spit. Swirling his tongue around his thick digit, Dean closes his eyes and pretends it’s not just a finger that’s in his mouth––he can almost imagine what Cas would taste like––raw masculine musk with a hint of soft floral sweetness. 

Dean pulls his hand away with a loud wet pop, the noise in the flat silence of his dense walls sounds obscene. Keeping his wet finger out straight, he trails the rest of his fingertips down his chest, twisting his wrist in circles before he lets his wet finger fall to his nipple. 

The wetness feels good against his flushed skin, and he lets out a rough groan, remembering the shape of Cas’ hips as the towel clung to him. He rubs his hand left to right, making the nub impossibly harder. His nipples are incredibly sensitive, and Dean’s cock pulses at the pleasure he’s giving himself. 

His own fingers walk across his stomach and down the side of his hip, mentally comparing it to Cas’. The former angel has a wider set to his hips, where Dean’s are narrow. Cas isn’t jacked, with abs trailing down his torso, but he’s lean and toned enough to make a perfect  _ V  _ shape, like an arrow pointing to his cock. 

Dean puts his palm against his pelvis and opens his fingers into a  _ Vulcan Salute,  _ separating his first two fingers from the last two. His hand slides down around his aching cock and he lifts his fingers enough to grip his dick, pulling back down against his body, making any loose skin taught around his cock. 

Finally, he abandons his nipple to stroke himself, while his other hand is tugging his skin tighter and tighter. It’s dry and he wants to reach for his lube, but it feels too good to stop. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s gone solo without lube, but if he’s planning on taking his time, he needs to stop before he goes any further. 

Huffing a frustrated sigh, he lets go of himself and twists, reaching for the nightstand drawer, grinning when his fingers wrap around the small purple bottle. It’s only been a few seconds since he let go, but his dick throbs, begging for attention. 

With a snap, he pops the top open and drizzles the clear liquid over his fingers. It’s cold and viscous, and Dean wishes he would have warmed the bottle up in his armpit before coating his hand. He does his best to warm it up by rubbing his fingers together and breathing out a long exhale, trying to use his breath as a makeshift heater. 

Impatience wins out, and Dean grips his dick with a huffing gasp. Some people take enjoyment from bringing something cold to their genitals…Dean is not one of those people. The temperature of the lube is only uncomfortable for a moment, but as he runs his hand up and down his shaft, it quickly warms up. 

A tiny part of him feels guilty, like jacking off to the image of a half-naked Castiel is a violation of sorts, but it feels just dirty enough to be enjoyable like it gives him an edge to have this secret for himself. So much of his life is shared with his family and now that they are working on their honesty, having this to keep for himself gives him a small thrill. 

Dean lets go of his cock and slides both hands down his pelvis. His fingers make a triangle around the base is his dick and his balls, as they gently squeeze and tug. He presses down his first three fingers and begins to trace around his balls.

“Fuck,” he cries out, wishing it was Cas rubbing slow circles over his ever-tightening sack. 

He wonders if Cas would top or bottom, and imagines what it would be like to spread his legs wide enough for Cas to slot in between his thighs as one hand strokes his length and the other continues to massage his balls. 

His legs fall open as if practicing to be ready to finally take the other man. He whines as he angles his hips up and draws his knees to his chest around his outstretched arms. Heart hammering in his throat, Dean builds to his climax quicker than he was planning, so he lets go of himself and drags his blunt nail up his thighs. He pushes hard against the meaty flesh, doing his best to tamper down his libido, wanting to take his time. Tease himself and draw out his release so long that when he finally finishes, his come will splash against his chin. 

Dean takes a few deep breaths and thinks if he were with Cas he would take this cool down period to cover Cas’ body with warm soft kisses. Given the chance, Dean would paint every inch of the former angel with kisses. From the top of his forehead, around every curve of his body, down to the soles of his feet. 

The thick muscles in the backs of his thighs jerk as he lowers his feet back to the ground. No matter the amount of running or chasing, digging or chopping Dean did, nothing would make his thighs burn like holding his legs open wide while keeping his knees by his ears. No amount of exercise works all those muscles, and he hopes he stayed that way long enough to feel a tinge of soreness the next day. He would stand in the kitchen, talking to Cas while the backs of his legs ached because of the very same man. 

The idea sends a thrill through Dean’s body, he brings his legs together, catching his balls between his thighs before squeezing them together tightly. It gives just enough pressure to feel good, and he flexes his muscles, trying to get a tighter hold. Teeth slam together as he clamps his mouth shut and he huffs through his nose. 

Finally feeling like he can touch himself again, Dean reaches for his cock and gives a tentative stroke and circles his nipple, scraping his nail across the nub. It isn’t enough to send him careening off the edge, but close enough he could spend a few minutes edging himself. He picks up the pace slightly running his fist from base to tip. His calves flex so hard when he twists his wrist around the head of his cock that he thinks he might get a charlie horse. He has to suck in a deep breath through his mouth to get his muscles to relax. 

He’s enjoying how close to the edge he is, and can’t believe how quickly he’s gotten here. All it took is Cas wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, a few nipple tweaks, and a firm grip and he’s seconds away from being his seventeen-year-old-self, coming as quickly as possible when he gets a few moments alone.  

He rubs up and down, catching the webbing between his finger and thumb along the ridge of his cock. A pearly bead forms at the tip and he lets out a low hum at the feeling, wishing he could hear what Cas sounds like when he’s riding the line of ecstasy. 

Dean’s hand stroked up and until he begins to shake and his thighs burn from how tight they’re clinching. Right before he tips over the edge, Dean grips his cock hard at the base, groaning through the close call. He doesn’t think he will be able to get that close again without succumbing to the pleasure. 

He lets his body go lax for a moment and takes a few deep breaths. He can feel the cool air in the room dancing over every nerve ending in his body mixing with the inferno burning inside of him. If it felt this good just thinking about being with Cas, what would happen if they ever did get together? Dean’s not sure he would survive. 

He brings his legs together and twists to his side, giving him better access to his ass, his fingers running over the swell of his ass and working their way down to his hole. Whimpering, he rocks his hips back as he pushes his middle finger against the dry ring of muscle. 

“Fuck,” he chokes out. Even though it’s a little rough, he still feels like he’s floating when he taps his finger against his hole. It isn’t a great angle, and there isn’t much strength in a single digit, but Dean does the best he could to thump against his hold, shocking the sensitive nerves. 

For a moment he imagines Cas is in the room watching him, and he begins to roll his hips putting on a show. When he rocks forward the tip of his cock would catch on the sheet, and when he pushes back, he feels his finger push against his entrance. He wonders if Cas would want to watch as Dean slowly get himself ready to take him or if he would get bitchy and impatient, pushing Dean’s hand aside and start to finger him open. 

He can’t take it anymore, he has to come. Imagining the Cas that doesn’t take shit, and goes after what he wants, puts Dean right on the cusp. He rolls onto his back, gasping for air. As soon as he touches himself it’s over. He brings one foot up on the bed, tucking the heel of his foot up against the back of his thigh and reaches down and grabs his ankle, giving himself leverage to fuck up into his own fist. He uses the foot on the bed to thrust up into his hand, and he tries to flick his wrist every time the tip slides through, but his hips are rocking so fast and his hand is jerking up and down that he loses coordination and catches the head on every third or fourth stroke. 

“Oh fuck,” he cries and he feels the tingle spread through his pelvis and out through his limbs. His body is wracked with tremors and he pulls one last time before he's he’s coming with a sputtering gasp. This ropes of milky white shot up to his throat, and though it didn’t hit his chin as he’d hope, he’s too busy riding a cloud through a rainbow to even care. 

Spurt after spurt falls down his chest as he gently squeezes out every last drop. He feels his heart trying to escape his chest and lets himself fall flat against the mattress, trying to conserve any lingering energy. He’s spent and every part of him feels like jello. It surprises him when an honest-to-god giggle creeps out of his throat. He had hopes of being sore, and there is no chance in hell he won’t be. 

 


End file.
